Escher's Hand
by The Moirae Lachesis and Clotho
Summary: The flames of the phoenix core shrouded him in light, squeezed him to enlightening horror. Astral fires of destiny, twining their sins around the boy, until with a fatal hiss and roar, all that stood in his place, were a few dapples of light...
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello! I am Sophia Supernova, and this story is written in conjunction with my co-author Wicked Sapphira. We had the idea to write a fanfiction inversing the circumstances and souls of Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. Thus, we warn you that the main characters notably these two, will be _inversely _IC. So Harry will have canon Tom's personality and Tom will have canon Harry's personality. The relationship between their parents in this story will stay true to canon, but like everything else will be inverted. This is going to be an epic story if it goes where we want it to go. So basically, our fanfic will be the HP universe upside-down, but still respecting plotlines of the original series. I repeat, the characters will be inversely IC!! I will be writing Tom's POV, 3rd person, and Wicked Sapphira, Harry's POV 3rd person.**

**Our chapters will alternate: one chapter will be Tom, the other will be Harry, one chapter will be Tom etc. Thus, each chapter's author will alternate as well. So Wicked Sapphira will write the 2nd chapter, and I will resume in the 3rd chapter, she will resume the 4th etc.**

**So this chapter which I wrote, focuses on Tom's parents' relationship which as we know, is a determining factor of his soul in the book. There is major Tom Riddle Sr/Merope interaction in this chapter for the purpose of this story, but don't worry the main pairing will be Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger! ;D**

* * *

Merope Gaunt watched through heavily-lidded eyes as the Ministry officials subdued her brother and her father, closing her eyes shut as she heard curses and spells cast, searing jets of lights of all colors, a veritable artwork of prism's reflections, rebounding and crashing into miscellaneous objects. Splinters, crashes, shards of chaos ricocheted wildly, smashing everything that had the impudence to be in the way. Merope had lost count of the number of windows and doors that had shattered, been struck down as if battered in by mighty giant fists. She huddled in on herself, hoping to sink into the dirty walls, to blend into nothing, her wild matted hair curtaining her face from view. A dry rasping cough shook her frail frame, and tears burned their way up in her eyes, as her brother hissed out in Parseltongue, his eyes demented:

"Look at her, the cowering little whore. I'm sure that you've been waiting for this for a long time; now you can join your little Muggle lover scum! You love strangers more than you love your own family. You're a shame to Salazar Slytherin you wench!"

He struggled insanely as at least six men sent a _Stupefy _at him, his roars ceasing to reverberate throughout the house, his mighty fists quelled in their violent thrashing, in an infernal halo of blood red. Marvolo was more dignified and calm, his mouth twisted in scorn, having been effectively silenced, he faced his fate with astounding aplomb, only his beet red countenance and his bulging eyes betraying his ire. The dark look he sent to Merope made her shiver, her thin hands instinctively clutching at her ragged clothes, her eyes cast down in shame. He looked away, and with visible fury allowed himself to be escorted out of the dwelling, followed by the rest of the Ministry officials, his son floating eerily behind, bathed in the crude harsh yellow light of the house's open door. The officials never once looked at Merope, not even noticing her, so discreet and effaced was she. Merope tensed as she heard angry and panicked shouts, the sounds of scuffles and swearing echoing harshly through the night, as Marvolo seized one last desperate chance to escape. He was easily overpowered again in a flurry of crimson lights, and stupefied just like Morfin. The group Disapparated with a loud pop, leaving the night air nude and fatigued in its sudden silence. The young woman let out one long rattling breath which merged in with the night's raspy quiet. As her bosom rose with that breath, it heaved as others, more jagged and loud, succeeded themselves, rising in a crescendo of relief, till she was sobbing in earnest, her body sagging down in the filth of the floor, her arms wrapping around her knees, as she rocked back and forth like a lost infant. Tears pearled down her gaunt cheeks, down her neck, landing softly with infinite grace in her mousy brown hair, which lay as a shower of broken dry brambles over her face, over her knees. After a few minutes of hacked, shaky sobs, she coughed long and hard, cradling her stomach with one arm, throwing her head back and breathing in one long swipe. She opened her eyes, one eye looking out at the night sky, and one eye roving around the house. A small tremor shook her frame, and a weak watery ghost of a smile flitted across her visage, and for a moment, that plain, rugged face was the most beautiful thing to behold in that house. Relief had come with its catharsis of tears, and now, now, she could be free. Finally, completely, after eighteen years of abuse, eighteen years of cowering and cringing and always striving to be the perfect servant, the perfect daughter. Free. She was free.

The beginnings of a laugh bubbled up in her throat, and picking herself off the floor, she eyed with disgust the mess around her, the squalor and the filth of enslavement. She winced as her back rubbed against the rough edge of the marble kitchen table, the bruises on her skin brushing painfully against the surface. Never. Never again would she bend to anyone's will. Teetering slightly, and hobbling awkwardly across the room, with a shaking, pale hand, she hesitantly patted the floor here and there, scrabbling for an important piece of herself. Opening her mouth in silent relief, her hand sought what it had searched for; the wooden reassuring length of her wand, its surface gleaming and sticky with sweat and grease, powdered with dust, met the callused knuckles of her clammy fingers. Grasping it, she cradled it for a moment to her chest, relishing in her power to once more have the opportunity to wield that power. Straightening, she pointed her wand at the nearest shattered widow and enunciated clearly with barely a tremor:

"Reparo." And a faint wind billowed from her wand, transparent filigrees of forgotten magic spreading and twining around the window, ghostly breaths of reawakening power briefly mending the broken glass, before the memory disintegrated, the shards dropping back on the ground, dejected.

She frowned and smiled grimly as she realized that it would be a long time before her magic would function wholly again, without the shadow of revolting fear pushing down on her. But it was a start, a beginning, a renewal, and by Merlin, she would wait as long as needed to find herself again. Going into her cramped minuscule room to gather the few belongings she possessed, which consisted of a few ragged dresses and some meager miscellaneous objects, she rolled them up in a bundle manually, and shuffled out of the room. Staring at herself in the broken pieces of mirrors on the floor, she gazed with loathing at her reflection which wavered like an eerie phantom of mockery in the light of the few flickering candles. Her face was pasty white, hollow and pre-maturely aged, with frown lines etched in her forehead, and the dimples near her mouth and chin harshly accentuated. Scars and fading bruises littered her too pale skin, making her look like a wandering wraith. Resolutely stepping her foot on the piece of glass, she gathered a thin sheet of paper and a nub of charcoal, and wrote a few lines.

_Dear Father and Morfin,_

_I know that with these words, you will detest me with a passion, cursing me to eternal shame. I know that by leaving, you both will be alone and have no one to care for in the upcoming years. But this house has too many memories for me, and I must go. I will be much happier and you both as well, ultimately by living separately. I realized that I don't need anyone anymore to control my life; I have years and years ahead of me and I will do as **I** choose, as **I** want to. I do not love you any less, but if you love me still, you will understand my decision to leave. _

_Farewell, and my wishes accompany you,_

_Merope G._

Neatly placing the note on the kitchen table, she turned her back on it, though her face crumpled slightly from her emotion. Walking blindly, quickly away before her resolution wavered, she strode out into the night with her belongings, searching for her freedom. She would find it, that liberty, and live her life. And she would banish that little arrogant snob, Tom Riddle from her mind, her heart, now and forever. She didn't need him now, now that she was free and could think for herself. The cloud of defeat vanished from her eyes, she saw who he was. Ah, how wishful thinking is divine, and she would find what she sought; but the Fates, the weary Fates would twine Riddle's life with hers, the lonely, defeated as of now tramp… Fingering her golden locket of Salazar, she became one with the night's wan shadow.

* * *

The first month, Merope had an enormous hassle in finding a home in little Hangleton, where someone would accept her. Rumors and whispers had flown all ready, cruel and nasty words of _Look at her, she is part of those madmen's family! Those horrible Gaunts! Do you think they eat snakes like that brother of hers is said to do? How horrible_! Oh yes, Merope shook her head sadly, she was well acquainted with the public's opinion of her family. But she had persevered, had marched doggedly on, not ever letting herself be stamped upon, spat upon. Oh, she would see the superior looks of the men, and the hypocritical disgust of the women, purposefully shivering whenever Merope was near, wrinkling their noses and turning their heads away. But that was how life was, the peoples' endless idiocy, judging, ranking a person by their family and not for how that person was, inside. Once, she would have been shattered, crushed. Now, she couldn't care less. It was almost amusing to see them run away from her, or stare at her as if she would curse them to oblivion. The young woman fondly tested her wand, its surface now spotless and impeccable, its walnut color shining superbly in the sunlight. Walnut. Her hair, her hair whom she had tended and repaired herself, now brushed and gleaming proudly in the sunlight, untamed, but beautiful. Curtains of walnut brown, warm, spicy, passionate, and smooth, like rivulets of wood, obscuring the right side of her face. Her skin though naturally pale, had regained a healthy color, had even obtained a healthy flush of crimson in her cheekbones. Merope knew very well she wasn't a beauty, far from it, for she never had been. But she was a woman, and she had accepted it, and nourished its neglected sheen. She still couldn't believe her freedom, her liberty, the reality of making choices in a way. Absently passing a finger over the gold locket nestled in the hollow of her throat, she picked up the bolts of fabric of her mauve skirt, which trailed on the ground. Smiling gently, with a pique of mischief, Merope called to mind one aspect of her new self she relished in. Her magic. Now released from its fetters of subversion, her magic had developed fully, improving, honed itself to an almost dangerous level. She was by no means a brilliant witch, but with her Slytherin cunning, her wand was one dangerous weapon indeed. She had used it discreetly, while negotiating for a home with the Riddle landowner, who had tried to refuse her a lodging. He had been quick to accept her after her little Furnunculus spell. He hadn't known what had happened of course, but after a week of painful pustules, he had deemed it pointless not to give her what she wanted. A small grin graced her heavy-set lips, but it vanished as soon as she saw the son of Thomas and Mary Riddle, riding past her on his carriage, with his lover Cecelia. Walking brusquely away, she tossed her head indignantly as he blew a playful kiss at her.

"Oi, you young lady there! What is a beautiful woman like yourself doing on such a warm day? Care for a ride, my sweet?"

Even from a distance, his dark eyes smoldered into hers, burning into hers with a mischievous intensity. Merope marveled at the irony of life. Up to one month ago, when she had still been confined at home with her father and brother, he had ignored her completely, never deigning to look at her, never giving one sign he knew she existed. The more she had clung to the memory of his hair, his eyes, his frame, the more his physical self had distanced away from her. But now, now that she was a person, a woman, no longer clinging to anyone but her respect, he saw her, a spirited woman-child, and the tables had turned disastrously. First, discreet hasty looks cast at her whenever he walked or rode by. Then, the smiles had started, the little grins, the rich warm laughter to melt her veins in her heart. Then small gestures to help her, little pleasantries, careless offers to accompany her home. He was quite a charmer, a refined seducer, but he grated on Merope's nerves at present. She was no one's doll, no one's plaything to amuse oneself with, to discard later. He had gotten so insistent at one point, she had been forced to point her wand under his throat, to stop him from touching her. He had looked frightened then, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously under the length of wood, but the next moment, he had shrugged her off stating in that unctuous tone of his and that infuriating lazy grin _It will take more than that to drive me out, darling._ Since then, his courting had gotten more open, more obvious, till the whole town swooned with shock to see the handsome, skirt-chaser Tom Riddle actively pursue the daughter of the feared Gaunts.

"Tom, darling, it hurts me so to see you fraternizing with that chit. You know she can never be what I can be. Come back to me, forget her. I am all you can ever want me to be." Cecelia said, pouting darkly, glaring at Merope across the carriage, her blond hair shining superciliously in the sunlight.

Her companion though didn't even spare a glance at her, and gracefully jumped down from the carriage, amiably patting the head of his white horse, before heading towards Merope. The young woman froze, a hand in the pocket of her skirts, her eyes narrowed and suspicious. She craned her neck as the young man halted before her, looking down at her, his lips upturned in a teasing smile. Her heart clenched as she saw a lone lock of ebony fall elegantly on his alabaster white forehead, a dark swan gliding across ivory waters. His eyes kept hers in a confusing, burning geol. The next moment, he had kissed her, his lips gripping hers, claiming hers, devouring hers. When he released her, ignoring the shriek of surprise and indignation from Cecelia, he whispered

"So, you still won't take my offer to accompany you to your dwelling, beautiful Merope?"

The first month, Tom Riddle was slapped within an inch of his life on the cheek.

* * *

The second month, when he kissed her again under the pouring rain, he received a caress through his hair, soft accepting fingers smoothing waves on seas of onyx and the next moment, the words _You do not have me yet_ a laugh of rebellion and a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

The next time he called her beautiful, after rescuing her from delinquents who had tried beating her, after seeing her face marred with bruises, blood and scrapes she had kissed him on the cheek.

The next time their lips and eyes met, all in sincerity and mutual respect, reciprocated progress and change, sighs and sounds and scents had permeated their souls. Scratches and screams of sorrow and seduction had perfumed their fragrance of union. Their bodies meeting, joining, in the most poignant signet of devotion and betrothal, with the benediction of the moonlight. Virgin blood and slick fluid of pleasure, bathing in content satisfaction.

The third month, he had proposed to her, all blushes and clair de lune's melody, dapples of love and respect simmering on forest's ground's honesty. She said yes, and donned herself with bridal gown and he with the groom's attire. The town of little Hangleton rebelled initially against this scandalous union, too contrary to the hypocrisy of courtship and false words, but the bride and her groom had united nevertheless, the Muggle and the Witch, united in their lips and soul. Eyes united in gleaming stardust of hope.

The fifth month, they reclined together in their marital bed, flushed and satiated, eyes as yet pure and merry, and she whispered _Tom I'm pregnant_. A widening of dark eyes, a deep guttural warm laugh and he whispers back _We are to be parents, Merope. The wonder of it all_! His hands cradling her slightly swollen abdomen, protecting the little life within and soon to be.

The ninth months, screams and pain and fire, stretching and tearing and burning. Tears and sighs and convulsions, arching body and mother's christen hood. Her hand gripping his as the nurse kindly says _Push, just once more_. His eyes conveying all his sincerity, his love, his determination. A decision, an unbreakable vow of promises. A few seconds later, a baby's scream resonates like a horn in the night, the horn of change, strident joy in the frigid numbness of the New Year. His eyes, his hair, his corpulence, already so like his father. Gasping sighs of relief, eyes too wide in joy and pain, lips quavering in a smile, meeting his and she says

_We will name him Tom Marvolo Riddle._

And the Fates spun their loom, unhurried, unwavering, uncaring of the abyss of fortune and destiny that had just commenced.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Hello! I am Wicked Sapphira! Welcome to the second installment of Escher's Hand. I sincerely apologize for the long wait since I know that a lot of you were getting impatient, according to my co-author, Sophia Supernova. I have just been lacking time and energy lately due to schoolwork and life in general. But, oh well… such is life…. *sigh* I would like to thank all of those who reviewed and/or put this story on their alerts or favorites list. Your support is greatly appreciated by both my co-author and I, and I could not possibly thank you enough for it.

Since the last chapter had to do with Tom's parents, this chapter will be all about James and Lily's relationship. Also, Lily is going to be like Merope Gaunt, and James will be like Tom Riddle Sr.—I mean, concerning their roles. Just like my good friend, S. Supernova, said, everything is reversed. In addition, I am changing something as far as Lily is concerned, so please don't get mad at me. I will explain my reasons for doing so in the author's note at the end of the chapter. One more thing, I was too lazy to make up my own song for the Sorting Hat to sing, so I borrowed the one from "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone," and it obviously belongs to J.K.R. Okay, so on with the chapter….

_February 1980…_

Lily Evans—soon to be Lily Potter in less than an hour's time—stood in front of a full-length mirror examining herself in full bridal attire. Her ivory chiffon gown hugged her curves tightly, making her ever-growing stomach to become even more prominent, and the length was such that it swept towards the floor elegantly, rustling ever so slightly when she walked. Her bright red, normally straight hair was pulled into a chignon with a few curled tendrils framing her pale, heart-shaped face. Lily's emerald green, almond-shaped eyes drank in her own appearance, with which she was rather pleased, including the swelling stomach.

She put a hand over her stomach when she felt a kick, and ran a hand over it soothingly, as if to comfort the unborn child that lay within. Lily still could not believe that she had a piece of her and a piece of James (she sighed when she thought of him) developing in her stomach. However, she was not sure if James truly loved her, seeing as he was under the influence of Amortentia, but she thought that he must love her somewhere in the deep recesses of his heart after all this time. That was why she was planning to stop giving him his regular dose of the love potion after their marriage. Even if he did not love her, she reasoned, he would surely stay for both the baby's sake and the sake of their marriage. She could handle being in a loveless marriage (at least on James' part) as long as she was able to be with him. It would not matter if he did not love her, she could love enough for both of them.

Lily would not have used Amortentia unless she felt it necessary. Before that, she had tried everything she could think of, but to no avail; he still did not even know that she existed. Even back in their school days, he never noticed her. No, he was too preoccupied with his escapades with the other Marauders back in those days. Lily, on the other hand, noticed James on her very first day at Hogwarts. Yes, she remembered well that fateful day….

_An eleven-year-old Lily stood on the platform at Hogsmeade Station transfixed by all of the hustling and bustling of the students, both new and old. A burly man with a gruff voice was standing in the middle of all of this commotion calling, "First years! First years, over here! First years, come with me!"_

_Lily, relieved at finally knowing what she was supposed to do, walked over to the man, who she guessed was a groundskeeper of sorts. There was already a crowd gathering around him, and she recognized the girl that she had been sharing a compartment with, who was unfriendly, and had stopped talking to Lily once she had found out that Lily was a Muggleborn, saying that she as a "future Slytherin" did not associate with "Mudbloods", whatever that was supposed to mean. When it seemed like all the first years were assembled, the man led them to several row boats that were floating on what looked like a black mirror in the moonlight, although it was obviously a gargantuan lake. "Only four in a boat, please," said the man._

_Lily found her only friend, Severus Snape, in the crowd, and followed him into one of the boats. They both sat down, and she was about to ask how the train ride went for him, when two boys got into the boat with them, making Severus scowl deeply, for reasons unknown to Lily. "Hey, Snivellus. What are you doing in our boat? Planning to take a dip in the Black Lake? Merlin knows you need one with that greasy hair of yours. When was the last time you even bathed?" the boy with the long black hair quipped cruelly. Severus just ignored him, but Lily could see his eyes flash and his fists clench and unclench almost unnoticeably. _

"_Leave him alone! What did he ever do to you?" Lily scolded furiously, disliking this boy more every second that passed by._

"_Nothing, really. It's just the fact that he exists...," the boy responded._

_Narrowing her eyes into her best death-glare, Lily replied, "That does not mean that you get to pick on him."_

_The boy was about to say something else, but his friend wisely shut him up with, "Sirius, save it for later. You have seven more years to torture him, so lay off, all right?" _

"_But James—" _

"_I said, lay off," James repeated with a certain finality and authority, which made Sirius' mouth close with a snap._

_No one spoke for a while, and Lily took the opportunity to observe her surroundings. She never really noticed him while he was speaking, but even at the age of eleven, James was one of the most handsome males that she had ever encountered. His untidy, jet-black hair made her fingers long to run through it, and his eyes (although partially obscured by a pair of glasses) reminded her of hot chocolate, which made her want to melt into a puddle of goo. He was so brave, noble, and all the things that she could not be. Although Lily did not recognize the feeling yet, only being very young and inexperienced in such matters, she had fallen in love with James at first sight. Hard. _

_Lily was snapped out of her observations by the sight of a colossal castle looming in front of them. The view was breath taking, and the lit windows were beacons of light in the darkness, glittering and glowing in all their glory. As they drew nearer to the castle, it became increasingly intimidating in its size with all its turrets and towers, but it also gave Lily a strange feeling of security, although she was feeling rather nervous about the Sorting. There was much conversation about it in the other boats, ranging from the mundane theory of a written exam to the ludicrous idea of having to wrestle a troll. Lily, while not knowing a huge amount about the Wizarding World, knew enough from what Severus had told her to know what the Sorting truly entailed. What was so frightening about put a dingy, old hat on her head? Maybe the fact that it decides what my life will be like for the next seven years, she responded internally to her own silent question._

_The boat drifted nearer to a cave opening covered in ivy, and they glided through it. Then the fleet of boats made through a dark, winding tunnel under the school, and into a small harbor. Then they got out of the boat, and made their way into the Entrance Hall—Lily could not help gaping in amazement at the grandeur of Hogwarts. Then a stern-looking witch came out of seemingly nowhere, and the man who had led them there said, "Good evening, Minerva. The first years are ready to be sorted."_

"_Indeed. You may go, Zacharias," Minerva said, and Zacharias left without another word. Minerva turned to the students and addressed them: "Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of the school. Tonight each of you will be sorted into one of the four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. House points are rewarded to those who behave; if there is any rule-breaking, points shall be deducted. Is that clear?" Everyone nodded his or her heads in agreement. Professor McGonagall looked satisfied, and said, "Good. Now come with me."_

_Lily followed her through the great double doors with the other first years and she gasped in amazement at the sight that awaited her. The Great Hall was filled with students, all of whom were sitting at one of the four massively long tables and staring at the first years that had come in. However, that was not what was so captivating to Lily; it was the ceiling, which had been enchanted to look like the starry night sky outside. I love magic, she thought to herself. Then she noticed a hat on a stool by the staff table, and she assumed that it was the Sorting Hat. Her assumption was proved to be correct when a slit opened by the brim, and a song filled the Great Hall._

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I am a Thinking Cap!_"_

_After the hat had completed its song, everyone—including the first years—clapped, and Lily felt a tap on her shoulder and spun around, only to find Severus standing behind her looking a little green. "Are you okay, Sev?" she asked, concerned about his welfare (after all, he _was_ her only friend so far). He shrugged, which Lily took to mean, 'Not really, but I don't want you to know.' _

"_You know, you better be in Slytherin," he muttered._

"_I don't think that I am cut out for it. I'm not cunning or—"_

"_Trust me, you are. Besides, it's the only House worth being in," Severus interrupted._

_Before Lily could respond, Professor McGonagall began to speak: "Now, when I call your name, please come up, sit on the stool, and put on the Sorting Hat. Adams, Jane!"_

_A trembling girl with glasses and mousy brown hair stepped forth, and placed the Sorting Hat on her head once she had settled on the stool. After about a minute of deliberation, the hat finally called out loudly, "RAVENCLAW!"_

_The list went on, and Lily could feel her anxiety increase with every student Sorted, her head chock full of questions. What if the hat did not place her in Slytherin? Would she and Severus still be best friends? Would that boy named James be in the same House as her? Suddenly a voice called out, "Evans, Lily!"_

_Lily stepped forward hesitantly, reluctant to leave the comfort that the crowd of fellow first years provided. She could physically feel the hundreds of pairs of eyes that followed her every movement, sizing her up, and, against her will, her legs started to feel like rubber and her face started to flush. Lily sat down upon the stool once she had reached it and McGonagall placed the hat upon her head._

"_Ah, Lily Evans, I presume," said the Sorting Hat inside Lily's head._

"_Yes. Will you please put me in Slytherin?" she asked hopefully._

"_Now, why should I do that?" the hat replied slyly._

"_Because I want to be with my only and best friend."_

"_But you don't belong there. Yes, I see plenty of cunning, but not much ambition. Not to mention the fact that you are a Muggleborn, and while I do not discriminate, Salazar Slytherin made it nearly impossible for anyone who isn't a half-blood or a pureblood to be in his House. However, you do have a thirst for knowledge, but Ravenclaw won't do. You are not nearly bold and daring enough to be in Gryffindor, although you always stand up for what is right. You possess unwavering loyalty, though, one that would make Helga Hufflepuff proud. Yes, I know just where to put you…," the hat said._

"_But—" Lily started._

"_I have made my decision. Better be… HUFFLEPUFF!" _

_Lily, disappointed, walked off towards the Hufflepuff table, where they were giving her a polite round of applause. She sat down, and her eyes automatically searched for both Severus (to see what his reaction would be to her being in Hufflepuff), and James (to stare at him discreetly). She found Severus first, and he was staring at her with a shocked and disappointed expression on his face. Lily wanted to talk to him so badly, to explain, but she knew that that was impossible at the moment, so she mouthed: "I'll talk to you later." He nodded his head to tell her that he understood, and turned back to the Sorting. Then, Lily started to stare at James in earnest when she found that she had nothing better to do._

_Lily's heart seemed to skip a beat when the name "Potter, James" was called out, and the object of her interest strode to the stool with his head held high, and pushed his glasses further up his nose as he walked. Please, please let him be in Hufflepuff, she thought. Her hopes were dashed when the Sorting Hat called, "GRYFFINDOR!" a few seconds later. Lily continued to stare at him long after he had sat down at the Gryffindor table, and started making an enthusiastic conversation with the other boy that was in the boat, Sirius Black, who had also been placed in Gryffindor. _

_When it was Severus' turn to be Sorted, Lily stopped gawking at James Potter (which took much effort), and watched Severus instead. He looked nervous as he sat down on the stool, but Lily was probably the only one who noticed since she knew him better than anyone else did in the room. As soon as the hat touched his head, the hat cried out, "SLYTHERIN!"_

_Lily let out a breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding with a 'whoosh'. Now, she truly felt miserable and alone. She did not know anyone in her House, and she could not spend as much as she wanted with either Severus or James. The situation with Severus could be easily remedied since they were already close friends, but it would not be as easy with James. In fact, being in Hufflepuff made it even more difficult to get him to notice her. However, Lily refused to give up. The Sorting Hat was wrong, she realized. She had plenty of ambition, just not for power or anything like that. Lily would do whatever it took to be in James' world, even if it was the last thing that she did._

A sharp wrapping came at the door, plunging Lily out of her reminiscence. One of her bridesmaids came in, clad in a lavender gown with a sweetheart neckline, and said, "Wow! You look great! I was sent to come and get you. Are you ready?"

"Thanks! You do too! Of course I'm ready. You know that I have waited several years for this day to come, and now that it's here, I find that I am sick of waiting," Lily replied, hastily putting on a pair of diamond, teardrop earrings, and a matching necklace. She tried to quell her nervousness by instead concentrating on the excitement that she felt by taking a few deep breaths. Then, Lily grabbed a bouquet (which was abundant with crimson roses and white lilies) from one of the many tables in the room, and headed out the door.

When she arrived to where the ceremony was to be held, she stopped right outside the main door. Then classical music struck up and Lily's bridesmaids started to walk down the aisle, holding their bouquets (all containing red roses). After they had reached the end of the aisle, a bridal march replaced the previous song, and Lily took that as her cue to join the procession. She started down the aisle with her head held high, looking brave, but that was all an illusion; her legs felt like Jell-O and her heart was beating so hard that she was surprised that it did not beat right out of her chest. When she looked at James, though, that feeling seemed to lessen, and he shot her a reassuring smile, as if he had sensed her discomfort. That smile was all it took. Lily's discomfort and nervousness disappeared all together after that, and she knew that everything would be fine. Lily would finally live happily-ever-after, which is what she had wanted for years.

_July 31, 1980_

Lily roamed the street looking for a place, any place that would help her, clutching her huge stomach as she went, for the pains were getting worse. The sky was darkening, and she knew that she had to find a place soon or she would give birth right in the middle of the road in the dark. Lily knew that it would have been easier to use magic to ease the pain and to find a proper place to have a baby, but she had resolved to never use magic again. Not after her beloved James had abandoned her and their unborn child after she had stopped drugging him with Amortentia. No, never again. Not even to save her own life, if it came to that.

She remembered well that fateful day. James had just walked out on her, even though she was pregnant with his child. Lily had tried to convince him to stay, if not for her, then for the child, but James had said that he refused to be with anyone who would "hoodwink" him like that, and, after that, he had just… left. Where he went, Lily did not know, and she would never find out, for her time on Earth was almost up, although she did not know that.

All of a sudden, a Muggle convent appeared in her line of sight, and she hobbled over to it. Then she banged on the large, oak door with her fist, and an elderly nun answered the door after a minute or two. "What can we help you with, child?" the nun asked, taking in Lily's disheveled appearance.

"Please help me. I am about to give birth, and I don't have anywhere else to go. I—" Lily pleaded, but started to scream mid-sentence when a particularly vicious contraction hit her, and she collapsed on the steps of the convent.

"My word!" exclaimed the nun. "Sister Marie! Sister Marguerite! Help me get this poor woman inside!" When the two other nuns arrived, they helped Lily inside the convent, and laid her on a bed.

"Sister Marguerite, go call Dr. Watkins, if you please," the eldest nun ordered. Turning to Lily, she asked, "What is your name, dearie?"

"Lily. Lily Potter."

"Everything is going to be all right, Lily. I am Sister Abigail, and all of us here at St. Vincent's will take care of you. It is a sign from God that you were sent here," she said soothingly.

By the time that Dr. Watkins (who was a thin, balding, middle-aged man, with a few streaks of gray peppered in with his short brown hair) had arrived, Lily's contractions were occurring more frequently and with more intensity than before. He told her to just breathe, and to push, which she did. It seemed like with every push, her energy was draining faster and faster, and she knew that her lack of magic use was definitely not helping her in the slightest.

When it was close to midnight, the baby was finally born after about six hours of labor. Dr. Watkins declared that Lily's baby was a boy, and, after cleaning up the baby, handed him back to Lily, who was more exhausted than she had ever been in her life. She couldn't even feel the pain anymore, and her vision was blurry, which she had no idea if that was normal or not. Despite her exhaustion, she felt elated to have her son in her arms. She looked down at him, and noticed with a pang that he looked a lot like his father, with his shock of ebony hair, but he had her emerald, almond-shaped eyes.

The doctor was the first to notice the dark purple bruises on Lily's stomach, and he was deeply alarmed by them. "How do you feel, Mrs. Potter?" he asked.

"I… can't even feel pain anymore. Is…is that normal? And my v-vision is blurry. I just feel like closing my eyes, and-and taking a long nap," Lily answered very weakly, confirming the doctor's fears.

"No, that is not normal. Listen to me, Mrs. Potter, whatever you do, do _not_ close your eyes. Do you hear me? Don't close your eyes!" Doctor Watkins ordered. Then he turned to Sister Abigail, who was watching the exchange with worry in her expression, and stated as calmly as possible, "We need to get her to the nearest hospital as soon as possible, or she will die."

Sister Abigail gasped, and asked, "What is wrong with her?"

"She has severe internal bleeding from when she gave birth. I don't know how I could have missed it! This is out of my hands; she needs immediate care, or she will not make it."

Lily, who had heard everything that the doctor had said, whispered, "No. No hospitals."

Doctor Watkins wheeled around in shock, and argued, "Mrs. Potter, you will _die_ if you don't go to a hospital. _Die_! Do you understand?"

"I und-understand completely. It's just that I don't ha-have anything to li-live for."

The doctor was beside himself at this point. "_Nothing to live for_?" he exclaimed. "You have YOUR SON! Isn't that enough?"

"Y-you wouldn't understand," Lily whispered evasively, thinking of James and how he had abandoned her, and of her parents, who had recently died in a car crash.

"You're right, I don't understand. HOW COULD YOU D—"

"That's enough," Sister Abigail said, gently putting a hand on Doctor Watkins' arm. "If the girl doesn't want to go a hospital, she doesn't want to go. It's her decision. It is not up to us to decide whether someone lives or dies; that is up to God. And yelling at her about it is not going to help matters."

"But—" the doctor began.

"No buts, my good doctor. In your line of work, it is imperative that you remain professional at all times, but you have not done that tonight. Do not let your personal feelings get in the way of your work. I, too, do not want Lily to die, but, then again, there is nothing that I can do about it," she countered.

"You do have a point. I have not remained completely professional tonight. However, this... this blatant effort to refuse medical care is getting in the way of my doing my job. I also know another thing: While we are arguing, this poor girl is getting closer and closer to dying every second that passes. So, let me do my job properly, and let me take her to a hospital, even if it is against her wishes," Doctor Watkins said.

"I am afraid that I cannot let you do that," Sister Abigail stated firmly.

"Fine, then. I see that my services are no longer needed."

"No, they are not. Would you like me to show you to the door?" she asked.

"I think that I can find my own way out, thanks," he said curtly, slamming the door behind him once he had reached it.

"Oh dear, it seems that I have upset the poor doctor. Oh well... he'll come around eventually," Sister Abigail tutted.

Lily, whose eyes were fighting to stay open, felt even more exhausted than ever, but she felt a kind of peace, or tranquility, if you will. She'd suffered so much in her relatively short existence that she was sure that it was contagious, and she didn't want her son to suffer as much as she had. (Although, Lily never stopped to consider that her death would make her son's life more difficult instead of it being easier.) And now her suffering would end, which is why she felt at peace. If only James would have stayed, this never would have happened, and her son would have grown up to a loving family, but such is the way of the world. Her only regrets were that she would never get to see James' face again, and that she would not live to see her son grow up.

"What are you going to name him?" Sister Abigail asked.

"I th-think that I am go-going name him H-Harry James Potter. 'Harry' after m-my father, and 'James' after l-little Harry's father," Lily replied weakly. "Af-after I die, Harry is t-to go to Vernon and Petunia Dursley in Little Whinging, Surrey. They are h-his la-last living relatives n-now. Here t-take him."

Sister Abigail nodded in ascent, and said, as she took Harry out of her arms, "It shall be done."

Then the darkness seemed too powerful to overcome for Lily, and her last thought was, 'If this is dying, then it is not so bad.' And with that, Lily Potter nee Evans departed from the world of the living, never knowing that she had just given life to one of the darkest wizards who ever lived, Harry James Potter.

**Author's Note: **Please tell me what you think! Please review! You will make S. Supernova and I very happy authors if you do! Okay, I said I would explain a few things, so that is what I am doing. Most of you are probably wondering why I put Lily in Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor, and I have several good (I think) reasons for that. Firstly, this is supposed to be the reversal of Merope Gaunt and Lily Evans-Potter. I honestly think that if Merope would have not been a direct descendent of Slytherin, she probably would have been a Hufflepuff (assuming that she ever attended Hogwarts), based on her personality. Merope was loyal (well, maybe not to her father and brother, but, then again, they were awful towards her), and not at all devious and cunning, despite the fact that she came up with a plan to drug Tom Riddle Sr. with Amortentia. Secondly, I feel that a Gryffindor would never give up their life easily, and would fight until the very end, which wouldn't work if Lily had to become like Merope Gaunt. Another thing is... that I am the author! I can pretty much do whatever I want as long as I work within the parameters that JK Rowling has set, and that I have good reasons if I do decide to slightly bend them.

Also, I decided to go with a Muggle convent (even though I am not even slightly religious) instead of an orphanage, because I wanted Harry to end up with the Dursleys and not at an orphanage, since it coincides with the plans that I have for the rest of the story, and it makes it so I am more able to adhere to canon. Oh, and don't worry, Sophia Supernova and I have already picked out Harry's "Dark Lord" name. Yes, it's an anagram, but I am not telling you what it is. You'll just have to read to find out! Mwuahaha! I am so evil!


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